How long have you
wandered about searching
for the correct path?
Clearly you have not
found it but you refuse
to give up the search
certain it is there.
Will you recognize it
if you stumble across it?
How do you decide
where you should look?
Look down, you are
standing on it as you have
been since you began.
A reflection on Case 2 of the Blue Cliff Record (Hekiganroku 碧巌録)
It is 1952, April, and I
am handed to the woman.
I am wrapped in a thin blanket,
the tall man is standing beside her.
I do not recall this, but this
is how it must have happened,
she finally a mother, he
a father despite infertility.
I do not recall her, the woman
who perhaps never held me
once I exited her body, who
hid me for nine months.
I mourn her now, knowing
she acted out of love, with hope
for me, but only the headstone
is her touch on my hand.
First appeared in Constellations: A Journal of Poetry and Fiction, Volume 12, Fall 2022
I still have the tie
I wore to m grandmother’s
funeral, one I conducted,
but the suit from that day
is long gone, and just as well,
for it would be several sizes
too large for the present me.
I’ve only worn the tie once
since that rainy day in Maryland
and then to a wedding
to balance out the sadness
with a bit of joy, the tie
deserved at least that
for standing with me
in the downpour, urging me
to recite the ancient prayers
as quickly as possible.
I was looking for you, he said,
and I was looking for myself
she replied, and here we are
and neither of us has succeeded
in our quest, for I have not
found myself, so you cannot find me.
I shall stop looking for you, he said
and perhaps you will appear.
for I am ready if you choose to.
I have found myself, finally,
she replied, but how long
have you been standing there
and what were you doing
since I last saw you?
Buddha was asked, once,
to describe all the dharmas
while standing on one foot.
“Hillel could do it,”
the crowd said, “so you
too should be so able.”
Buddha smiled and said,
“Hillel was a good friend,
as was Jesus and Ishmael.”
Buddha then gently sat
beneath the Bodhi tree
and was completely silent.
an old writer and his words 